


One Man's Dream

by Anonymous



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Bloodplay, Bondage, Chloroform, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dream Sex, Drugged Sex, Knifeplay, M/M, Multi, Nonconsensual Somnophilia, Rape, Recording sex, Somnophilia, Unconscious Sex, clown and freddy doubleteam quentin: the fic, nonconsensual bondage, nonconsensual videotaping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23495551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The Clown and Freddy come to an agreement about what to do about the Dreamwalker.
Relationships: Freddy Krueger/Quentin Smith, Kenneth “Jeffery Hawk” Chase | The Clown/Quentin Smith
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48
Collections: Anonymous





	One Man's Dream

**Author's Note:**

> **THIS IS RAPE**. DO NOT READ THIS IF IN ANY WAY RAPE IS A THEME YOU DO NOT WANT TO INTERACT WITH
> 
> God I hope Quentin is an adult, but I put the underage tag just in case. 

The Survivors liked to scavenge. Kenneth knew that well. Usually they would creep around their campfire like frightened starlings, pecking spare bolts and butterfly bandages out of gnarled tree roots. The bolder ones would venture into the fog, though never far enough that they lost sight of the comforting campfire glow. The boldest— and most desperate— ones would continue further, even trespassing onto Killer’s turf if need be. That was where the _best_ things were found, after all. Kenneth had thick bushes of primroses growing barely ten yards from his carriage. Sometimes, he’d return from a trial to find it picked clean. 

The survivalist, the graffiti artist, the cute Chinese girl— he’d caught sight of those three, too awake and too far away for him to bother, skulking around the Asylum stuffing things into their pockets. He’d seen Krueger’s favorite, as well, and after that it didn’t take long for him to receive an offer.

He said _yes_ , of course. 

After his chat with Krueger it only took a moderate stretch of time before Quentin was desperate enough to trespass again. He looked exhausted. He slumped close to the ground, eyes half-shut and brows furrowed. His bottom lip was appealingly swollen from being bitten. 

Best of all, with his senses so dulled by exhaustion, he didn’t notice a very special Afterpiece blend sailing toward him until the bottle broke on his back. He yelled; coughed, stumbled, ripped his hands from the thorny rosebush and ran in an unsteady, wobbly line that Kenneth intercepted with barely any trouble. In his right hand, he held a cloth thoroughly drenched with a sleep drug. 

Krueger was magnificent. Once Quentin fell to sleep, he’d be able to hold him there with no problem; then, as promised, they could have some fun. Quentin thrashed uselessly and finally slumped in Kenneth’s arm like an unwieldy towel. Tension drained from his body as he was dragged down into cottony, drugged sleep and Kenneth faced no issue carry-dragging his limp body into the colorfully-painted carriage. _Oh, this boy_. 

Kenneth already had a tripod and camera set up. He flicked it on, letting it record, and tossed Quentin down on the ratty bed. It stank of years worth of sweat, spilled beer, fear-urine, blood, and spunk. The sheets themselves were stiff with it all. Kenneth wasn’t bothered by the slovenly state of his abode; he was the only one who saw the inside of it, after all. 

He got to work stripping Quentin down before Krueger started playing. They had an agreement, after all. Kenneth knew that the dreamwalker could be quite _active_ in his sleep and wanted to ensure that he couldn’t wiggle on off somewhere. 

Ropes, first, once his clothes were discarded on the cluttered floor. Quentin’s skin was milky pale and remarkably untouched except for the garish, animal scars that Krueger had given him. Anything done to him in trials would simply be wiped away like so much old paint when a trial was over; and he was a skittish little thing outside of them, and usually didn’t venture out alone.

 _Would this stick_ , Kenneth wondered as he started to stir. He looped rope around Quentin’s ankle, bending his knee and securing the rope to a sturdy headboard. He did the same with Quentin’s other leg. His hands were secured between his ankles; the position held him open. His cock was soft between his legs, almost hidden by curly fuzz. It was the only part of his body besides his head to have hair on it. A swimmer, Krueger had said. It was a good look. Felt good, too, when Kenneth dragged his fingers down Quentin’s bare chest and saw goose pimples spring up on his arms in response. 

Quentin made a noise. Kenneth didn’t realize what it was, at first. It was a pitiful, animal noise of rage and fear. 

_Nancy?_ , he whispered. Then, _no, no, no, no._ His body twisted and bucked. A thin red line appeared on his chest, crisscrossing the three claw marks already there, and began to drip blood. 

Quentin screamed. His body shook on the bed. He couldn’t go anywhere; now, assured that the restraints would hold, Kenneth allowed himself to play. He reached first for an abused tin of slick and greased three fingers on his left hand. The right he kept on Quentin’s thigh. He was so warm. Feverish, almost. The insides of his thighs were silky smooth and pleasing to the touch; his skin tasted like warm denim and sweat. Muscle flexed just under the surface, a could-be powerful physique limited by age and sleep deprivation. It pushed his skin taut just like a ripe, juicy apple. Kenneth almost thought he could take a bite. 

It was an appealing thought. And he _could_. He could rip Quentin’s skin from his bone, probably, and there would be nothing the boy could do in response except pitch and scream. 

Which he was _already_ doing with some measure of enthusiasm. Kenneth would worry about rousing Sally, but she stayed within the walls of the Asylum, sobbing. 

Quentin was sobbing. Krueger must have gotten him into a similar position. Kenneth shoved three fingers into his snug, hot hole as three red lines appeared on Quentin’s beautiful thigh. He was beautiful, all of him. He was thrashing like a worm on a line. His voice crested, and then broke. He screamed out for _Nancy_ , and then again; he screamed out for _David_ , and for _Jake_. He screamed for _Meg_ , for _Jeff_. He was so _desperate_ for help. His chest rose and fell with frantic, heaving breaths, dusky brown nipples hard and peaked. Kenneth leaned down to taste those, too, rolling the nubs around in his mouth and dragging his tongue over each. Quentin was shaking. _Wake up! Wake up! I want to wake up!_

He was not going to wake up. Kenneth smiled to himself, a private little smile, and lined himself up. The screaming made his cock ache.

A worryingly large gash carved Quentin open from belly to throat. Not deep— Kenneth would have been disappointed if it was, killing the boy and putting an end to their fun so quickly. It made Quentin howl. Another, matching crop of wounds striped down his unmarked leg, from the back of his knee all the way down to his rounded cheek. 

He looked good split open on Kenneth’s cock. This video was going to be a favorite; he could tell already. 

His screams had taken form to mostly _no, stop, please,_ in any combination and without ceasing. Wounds continued to open all over his body. Krueger must have him on his belly, now; curling over his shoulder was evidence of what must be a horrific raking gouge down his back. Two holes opened up just under his collarbone. Blood spurted out and splattered all over Quentin’s chest and Kenneth’s belly. 

Abruptly, the struggling ceased in Quentin’s lower body. Quentin sobbed a little more— Kenneth pounded him into the mattress, by now unsure just how much longer he was going to last before blood loss and-or the Entity got to him— and went fully limp. 

He wasn’t fighting anymore. After about a minute, even his crying petered out. His breath was worn and ragged, uneven, edged with white-hot misery and hatred. 

Kenneth spilled inside of him with a low grunt. The boy felt amazing. Felt better when he was struggling, but still felt wonderful. Snug and hot and grippy inside, a perfect glove for hard, rough fucking. 

He had to work quickly before Quentin expired. He cut his left hand free, knowing already which he would take; his middle finger. The boy did love showing it off so much. 

Sweat, and blood. Something sharp and antiseptic— then an understated musty sweetness, like old tea. Delightful. The knife severed it from his hand with practiced ease. Quentin was laying still. His chest was rising and falling. 

Krueger wasn’t done, then, but Quentin wasn’t fighting back.

 _Kenneth_ was done. He finished cutting Quentin out and dragged him, bloody and naked, out of the carriage, and tossed him in the dirt. He couldn’t even react to that. 

There was another sudden spurt of blood, from his throat this time; it sprayed out on the dirt, fanlike and viciously crimson. Quentin looked even paler, delightful milky flesh glowing under the hazy light of the false moon. 

Kenneth laughed, and stepped back inside to end the recording.

**Author's Note:**

> [crosses myself]  
> I WILL enable comment moderation if I get nasty/weird comments on here.


End file.
